Crystal Kisses
by Dominick Disaster
Summary: DenNor - Cinderella.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Crystal Kisses  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. If I did, it would be awesome. D:  
**Pairing/Characters:** DenNor with some SuFin on the side.  
**Warnings:** A fight scene, but no blood, but some swearing and heavy kissing scenes. No clothes are taken off, but I'm horribly descriptive.  
**Summary:** My prompt was DenNor - Cinderella. So that's my summary.

**Author's Notes:** This story does not exactly follow the Cinderella story. There is no magical mice, no wand-waving fairy godmother. It's all AU, so the countries are humans (I did not come up with human names for Denmark, Norway, and Iceland). It was hella-pain to write at times, but generally I had fun with a lot of parts. I hope that you enjoy it, hidane! And a million thanks to my beta, who supported me and helped me so much throughout the whole thing.

Merry Christmas!

- x - x - x -

It was snowing outside, thick flakes drifting lazily towards the ground with the sort of mindlessness that one would expect of solidified water particles. There was no wind to push them around or guide them forcefully into a path other than what they may have liked. They slipped through the gray air slowly, a sort of muted dance that no one in the town paid attention to as they went about their lives. Most of the people walking the streets had boxes piled high in their arms, bordering dangerously close to blocking their vision. Others carried bags while shuffling through pockets or purses for car keys, the snow went blissfully unappreciated as it moved about its destined path to the ground and joined it's brethren to hinder the busy people. A silent message to slow down in their lives.

Christmas seemed fast approaching when December rolled around, which of course brought up not only talk of the big day itself but also other things surrounding it. Most importantly to Denmark, of course, being the parties. Where there was a party there was undeniably drink to be found and where there was alcohol he either was or wanted to be. Through the frozen grapevine he had already heard whispers of several, but for some reason his party-spirit hadn't caught up with him completely. It hung unmotivated in the back of his mind, like a once favorite scarf that was on the eve of its replacement.

"What's with all the sucky parties this year?" He pouted, shuffling behind Berwald with his hands tucked so far in his pockets that his fingers had curled into his palms. The blond was balancing two boxes in one arm with at least three bags in the other, but knew better than to insist Denmark carry any of it. He would deliberately drop it and then absent-mindedly swing it around just for the satisfaction for breaking it as retribution.

"Dunno," Berwald replied, his thoughts focused a bit more on his steps than Denmark's words. The other blond didn't much notice this as he looked around, as if someone would run across the street to invite him to the big bash he had been holding out for. He would hate to have to settle for one of the lamer parties this year - or any year for that matter.

He kicked at a snow bank as he walked passed it, scattering snow across the back of Berwald's legs which made the other grunt and pause to shoot a displeased expression at him. It was just another thing that went unnoticed, however, because by the time the other looked forward again Berwald had pulled several feet ahead of him. He jogged briefly to catch up, snagging the end of the other's blue and yellow striped scarf between his fingers to pull on it, "Hey! Don't you run away from me!"

The yank wasn't enough to choke him, Denmark didn't mean it to be, but it was enough to make Berwald wobble and clutch with particular care at the packages he had. A pleased snicker snuck from the other's mouth at the sight and when Berwald tried to walk again, he was once again snagged.

"We 'ave t'get 'ome," he snapped, or as close to a snap at his transected speech and naturally cool demeanor would allow.

Denmark rolled his eyes, visibly dropping the scarf, "Yeah, yeah."

They started walking again but once more Denmark's attention wandered, keeping the other's massive blue form out of the corner of his eye so he didn't get lost. Not that he would have gotten lost anyway, he knew this place like the back of his hand, but why put forward the effort if he could just trek along? Unfortunately for him, focusing on everything else save for a blue blob on the edge of his vision meant ignoring things that were right in front of him. Such as the telephone pole that he walked into that sent a searing pain through the side of his head and made him almost fall backwards into the snow. Thankfully, his self-proclaimed superiority in all things ever done surged forward and saved him. Well, that and grabbing onto Berwald's scarf again.

"Kn'ck 't off," He grumbled with a very mild increase in volume, reaching to the top of the small pile of packages to steady them which caused the bags to slip down awkwardly to the crook of his elbow, pulling some of his sleeve with it and exposing skin to the cold air.

Denmark, of course, was beyond listening to him and had noticing something as he had been glaring at the pole, contemplating chopping it down and remembering that he didn't have his axe with him. It was a large, somewhat formal sign that had been tacked carefully to the wood, preventing it from blowing off in the stormy days. Blue eyes scanned through the information quickly, absorbing it like a sponge for only one distinct, rock-solid reason.

"Hey! Check it out!" He shouted, pulling on the scarf he hadn't yet let go of. Berwald turned around, walking backwards for the sheer purpose of grabbing the edge of the scarf and yanking it free of Denmark's grip. It came easily enough, but that was only because he was close enough that an arm could shoot around his shoulders, forcing him to duck and close the few inches of gap between them. Denmark was already going off before Berwald even found the object he was pointing at, "It's a party! A really big one, for some price or something!"

"S' '_prince_,'" Berwald clarified, reading with more care than Denmark had.

"Yeah, whatever, we can afford it!" He replied in a nonchalant tone that melted all too perfectly with his previous excitement. The taller blonde straightened up, shaking the other's arm off of his shoulders and adjusting his glasses so he could re-read it. Denmark, of course, always ran low on patience and was already ahead of him by the time Berwald absorbed any useful information from it, "C'mon, Berwald!" He called, cupping his hands around his mouth despite being only a few meters away, "Tino's going to need time to pick out his dress!"

The blond rolled his eyes uncharacteristically and followed.

- x - x - x -

"Absolutely not!" Tino shouted as loud as his whisper would allow him. As if it would help at all to emphasize his point, he thrust his hands almost elbow deep in the sudsy water and resumed scrubbing dishes with a renewed vigor. Berwald stood beside him, leaning back against the counter and drying them off before placing them with an almost unnecessary care into the drying rack. His attention briefly lifted to the doorway of the kitchen, able to make out the edge of the couch where Denmark was swaying back and forth with enthusiasm as he played a racing game with Peter.

Once it was confirmed that he hadn't heard, his attention went back to Tino, "'E alr'dy saw th'sign."

"Well, then," the shorter blond started, puffing his cheeks slightly with thought before passing over a plate. He was so quick to let it go that Berwald nearly dropped it, somewhat disappointed in the back of his mind that their fingers hadn't brushed the way they usually did, "We'll just have to tell him he can't go."

He slowed down in drying the plate, staring at Tino with a long look of stoic consideration and vague bewilderment, as though Tino had just suggested they throw away all the dishes instead of washing them. The proposal wasn't quite deserving of such a blank stare, but when shocked it was difficult to hide it completely. Tino looked over at him, his brows furrowed and a slightly shaking resolution in his eyes, "_What_?"

"N'th'n," Berwald answered, deliberately turning to place the plate in the drying rack. He heard Tino give a heavy sigh and looked over just as his shoulders sank. A swell of guilt bubbled in him, closing around his lungs and quickly forcing out whatever medicinal words came to mind, "Agree w'th y'n'all. J'st th'nk it'll be diff'c'lt."

"Of course it'll be difficult. I wish you hadn't waited until the day of the party to tell me," Tino replied, his voice relaxed from the previous flash of agitation. It was sort of terrifying to see a glimpse into that aspect of his personality, though people often forgot that he was not simply (or at all, if he had it his way) a house wife, "But he'll make a mess of everything if he goes and-"

Tino's thought was abruptly cut short as Denmark wandered into the kitchen, yelling something over his shoulder about Peter's latest win and how he was just being nice so the kid wouldn't cry. He yanked open the refrigerator, tugging out a drink and was halfway through with it before he bothered to notice Berwald and Tino staring at him.

"What?" he asked, lowering the drink, "I'm not drinking out of the carton or anything."

"No, we know that," Tino said with a light smile, taking the dry-cloth from Berwald to wipe the suds away from his hands. Without anything to occupy his hands, Berwald crossed his arms loosely over his stomach, his cyan eyes fixated calmly on Denmark. "So, what are your plans for tonight?"

"What kind of question is that?" Denmark asked, "I'm going to that party! Which reminds me, I should probably get ready-"

"Oh, a party? Can I go?" Peter asked, peeking into the room.

"No way, kid," Denmark snorted, waving him off absently with the can in his hand, "It's a big-person party. You gotta come to at least here on me." He gestured around his hip, causing Peter to huff and stick his tongue out in retaliation.

"You're just sore that you lost three races straight!"

"Hey, I _told _you, I was letting you win!" Denmark said, not quite getting riled but showing early, playful signs of it. Knowing all too easily how playful could flicker with lightning speed to serious, Berwald straightened up a little and stepped to the forefront of the stage the kitchen was undoubtedly going to turn into.

"Pet'r, go t'yer room," Berwald ordered with the sort of firm voice that was reserved for serious moments that were better left unquestioned. Peter pouted briefly, recognizing the expression and biting back his whine of why he never got to participate in anything to run upstairs. The faint tinkering of dog tags followed as Hanatamgo scurried after him, his beyond human senses telling him that whatever was going to happen wasn't something he wanted to get in the way of.

"Listen, Denmark," Tino started, setting the dry-cloth out of the way of the sink and walking forward. There was a slight nervousness over his features, though whether it was because of concern for himself or for something else was unknown, "Maybe you should pick a different party to go to. This one is very important and besides, it doesn't sound like it's really your style anyway. You usually-"

"Nope," Denmark cut in, lifting the can to his lips and chugging the rest of its contents. Tino lifted his head in surprise, having focused his eyes somewhere around Denmark's midsection, just in time to see him turn to leave. A dismissive hand raised over his shoulder, "I'm big enough to pick out my own parties, thanks."

Denmark had noticed Berwald move around the room but hadn't paid much attention to it until his arm was grabbed just above the crook of his elbow. He probably could have avoided it if he really wanted to, but he'd always found things more interesting when they got physical. Blue eyes slid down to the hand on his arm briefly before turning to meet the taller male's, the hazy beginnings of a threat lingering in them. He yanked hard and wasn't surprised when it pulled free of the grip, particularly after he heard Tino gasp Berwald's name. The taller blond's mouth set into a firm line, which really wasn't much different from his usual expression save for the fact that the look in his eyes was not nearly as mellow.

"Che, you're so whipped," Denmark snorted, once again fully intent of leaving. Berwald glanced over his shoulder at Tino and the look they exchanged could have been one of confirmation or apology, but the truth was that it was so brief that it was debatable if either party knew its meaning.

His hand closed on Denmark's arm again and this time Denmark didn't dumb it down to words and locked eyes. He turned sharply, his fist raised and headed for Berwald's head. The collision-course he intended should have knocked the other backwards, if not out completely, but Berwald shifted and instead it collided with his jaw. Painful, but not something he couldn't recover from, which he made obvious when his fist collided more solidly with Denmark's stomach. A rush of air exited the now doubled-over form and his fingers grasped at Berwald's arm for support. The fight may have been over right there for most people - but "most people" was the farthest thing away from them.

Denmark's fist shot up, sending Berwald's bottom jaw up into his top with a snap similar to the one that came from a dog being hit in the muzzle. He stumbled backwards, uprooted from his spot and completely vulnerable to the kick that collided with his abdomen and sent him sliding across the linoleum floor. His head smacked against the wall beside the exit of the kitchen with enough force to send a stab of pain shooting through his skull and down his neck, but not enough to knock him out.

"You'd better hope I don't end up with a bruise there, you asshole!" Denmark snapped, an excited fire crackling blue in his eyes. He caught Tino out of the corner of his vision, rushing over to make sure his husband was alright.

Berwald's collision with the wall had turned their kitchen into a merry-go-round that he couldn't get off of and rather than try to stand again he covered his eyes. Tino was quick to support his back when he tried to sit up, bracing one hand against the taller male's shoulder and rubbing the other between his shoulder blades. The bespectacled male was thrown off when the arm slid more fully around him, tugging him back against the small chest in a manner that could only be protective. He heard a faint scoff and looked up just as Denmark's hand closed on the front of his shirt.

"Stop it!" Tino shouted, closing his grip on Denmark's wrist and prying his hand away. A misconception of the smaller male was that he was weak and needed Berwald's protection, it wasn't one that Denmark often forgot. His grip closed over the offending wrist with more force than "iron grip" could describe. Berwald felt Tino's other fingers twist in the material of his jacket just as a slight and surprised squeak brushed against his ear. The other tucked against his shoulder, though who he was trying to hide his pain from was a mystery. He still didn't release Denmark's wrist.

"L't 'm go," Berwald's voice, in spite or perhaps because of his mumbling, came out as almost a growl. Denmark, who's eyes had focused on Tino, did not move.

"Gladly, just as soon as he lets _me _go." Another squeak as he tightened his grip and Berwald felt a surge of protective rage slither through him. There wasn't much that made him want to attack someone, the effort itself would only lead to more fighting anyway. If a punch was thrown by most people he would simply ignore it, he even chose to ignore a lot of Denmark's swings. But Tino was an entirely different category in his brain, separate from his own bodily health and much more important.

"S'okay, T'no," Berwald said, moving his hand up to the other's in the hopes of getting him to lessen his grip from Denmark's. Tino hesitated, violet hues flicking between the piled on grips like a group handshake and Berwald's face before he let go. Denmark seemed to yank him back to his feet before he was even completely released, causing Berwald to stumble slightly. But Tino's obvious pain was still fresh in his mind and his fumbling state didn't last for very long. Denmark could become too dangerous too fast for him to waste anymore time with chatter or light blows - with Tino and Peter in the house, so close to that unpredictable force, Berwald wasn't about to take any risks.

An audible curse hissed from the shorter man's mouth as Berwald's fist crushed against his jaw and made his head snap to the side. He recovered quickly, but was surprised to look over and see the other had disappeared from his direct vision. The realization of why caught up when he felt his legs forcefully swept out from under him and he was suddenly tumbling backwards.

Normally, this wouldn't have meant much in the way of stopping him because he would have collided with his back before his head, cushioning some of the blow. However, Berwald had followed upwards with his kick, giving just enough of a tilt to his fall that his head smacked with more force than it would have against the cool floor. For a few brief seconds he saw stars and his entire body tingled with numbness, his fingers twitching to be sure he wasn't paralyzed or worse. The ferocity didn't really surprise him, considering throughout their lives the two always seemed to fight with some intent to seriously injure the other, and at the same time he hadn't been expecting it. For a few brief seconds fear flashed across his minds eye, terrified that he'd never move again. But then he lifted his hand a few inches from the ground and it flooded out, replaced with adrenaline and the need to do something equally dangerous in return.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned, struggling to get more upright. Recognizing that if he got up that meant he'd keep fighting, Berwald moved over him, fist already raised, "Don't you fucking da-"

Had his movements been up to par, he could have caught the other's punch before it knocked the remaining air out of his lungs with a pained "oompf." But his world was already swimming and the swirling Novocain-feeling hadn't left his body enough to grant him that. He took pride in his endurance and there were a lot of things that he could fight, but blacking out wasn't one of them.

- x - x - x -

When Denmark woke up again he was a little bit cold, but could feel the weight of a blanket settled somewhere over his chest and yanked it up over his shoulder. His head was throbbing worse than any hangover he'd ever induced upon himself but the nauseous feeling was definitely the worst. As he was slowly dragged along towards the waking world he realized that pretty much everything above his waist hurt. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant feeling to wake up with and he groaned his verbal disapproval of it quite audibly. Somewhere below him he heard a muffled cry from Peter, something about being awake, and then the light thuds of him running through the house.

"Stupid...kid," he mumbled, pressing his hand to his forehead and rolling onto his back. A few long minutes passed before he heard some movement south of his feet and sat up just in time to be slapped in the face with a bright light flooding across the floor. The sound that emerged because of it was a strange sort of low yelp and he fell backwards, concerned for a second that he'd hit his head on the floor but quite relieved to remember that he had been put on a pillow.

"Sorry," Tino said softly, slipping up into the attic and crossing the room with a bottle of pills in one hand and glass of water in another, "I thought you might need these. How're you feeling?"

"Awesome," he lied, sitting upright and uninhibited now that the light was gone. There was no sarcastic edge to his voice, only a haughty sort of arrogance that came from some unending supply of it, "Your husband hits like a bitch anyway. The floor's tougher than he is." His hand swiped over the back of his head with an almost nostalgic air and he flinched a bit when he found the bruise that was blossoming across it.

Tino considered arguing but instead thrust the pills down towards him, never wanting to be in Denmark's company for long after he and Berwald fought, "Here."

"Don't need 'em," Denmark said, a well hidden pout in the words. The shorter blond sighed, kneeling down to set both objects safely within reach and turning to leave. "Does he usually beat the shit out of Peter to keep him from going places? I'd hate for the kid to feel left out."

"Peter never throws a punch," he replied shortly, "Unlike you."

"You two aren't in _charge _of me," he snapped back, leaning forward a bit more and crossing his legs underneath the blanket, "I can go wherever the hell I want!"

"Except with this!" Tino sounded exasperated, as though he had tried to explain it ten times and the other still wasn't understanding. "It isn't just some stupid party, Denmark, it's so that a visiting prince can find a bride!"

"So? What's your point?"

Tino balanced his elbow on the arm crossed over his stomach, rubbing his eyes, "You're going to go there, get drunk, and make a mess of everything! Why would we _let_ you ruin something so important? You could go to any other party."

"I don't _want _to go to any other party, I'm _going _to this one," he struggled for a moment to push himself to his feet and even when he got there he needed to grab one of the boards above his head to steady himself, "It doesn't fucking matter if you _let _me or not!"

"Well," Tino said, pulling up the door that lead out of the attack and once again briefly blinding the other, "I think it does matter."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because the only key to this door is downstairs," he explained, "And I think _that _matters a lot."

With that he snapped the door closed and Denmark heard the distinct click of a heavy lock setting into place.

There were no windows in the attic, which made it the prime place to lock him because his own room had a window that he easily could have snuck out of. In addition to that, even if he did mange to break a hole through the wall or ceiling there then came the matter of getting down without breaking his leg. Denmark knew that he was very close to indestructible but if he was going to a party then he didn't want to risk even a sprained ankle. Despite the fact actually getting to the party was looking very hopeless, he _would _be there. This was the single, resolute thought that kept him going for the hour and a half he spent looking for any weak spot he could find to sneak out of.

"Not so much as a goddamned air vent!" he cursed, stomping on the floor where the fold-open door melded into.

Below him he heard Peter squeak before punching the door back with an irritated, "Hey! Watch it!"

"What the hell are you even doing down there?" Denmark responded, standing up to stomp on the floor for good measure. The older blonde was fairly certain that he was getting a not-too-pleased look but waved the feeling away with a gesture that went unseen.

Peter didn't respond immediately, but he heard him shuffle down to the next step below the door, as if Denmark's foot would suddenly manage to break through the wood and smack him in the head. He sighed, dropping to an Indian-style position in front of the door and bracing his hands on the bent knees, "Sorry, kid, I don't do well in confinement."

"Well, I was going to offer to help you out," Peter replied, his voice slightly muffled more with a huffy sulk than the wood, but it remained very understandable. If Denmark were an animal, his ears would have perked up - the straightening of his back with peaked curiosity seemed close enough.

"Oh yeah?" He asked after a brief hesitation, raising a brow at the locked door, "Why's that?"

"Because I feel like it!" Denmark could just imagine the boy taking a very enthusiastic pose on the stairs that was wasted on the wooden boards between them.

"Aren't you worried Mommy and Daddy will get mad?" Denmark teased, a smirk breaking the previous frustration of his face.

"So what! I can do whatever I want, just like you!" Peter's voice had slightly haughty air that might have made Denmark a bit more proud of his influence if his mind were not more absorbed in the idea of his freedom, "But I'm not going to do it unless- "

"Whatever you want it's a deal!" He agreed, jumping up. It wasn't in his nature to be suspicious of little kids, which had gotten in him in trouble with Peter once or twice though he had yet to make the connection, "Now open this stupid door!"

"But you don't even know what I want!" Peter near-shouted, clearly upset that they hadn't had one of the more dramatic exchanges like he'd seen in the movies.

"Who cares? Just let me the hell outta here!"

"No way! Not until you listen to what I want!" He demanded and Denmark was almost sure that he heard a distinct, "Hmpf." He glared at the floor with enough irritation to make the edge of his eye twitch just slightly.

"Fine," he groaned, "What do you want?"

"Admit that you didn't win those games earlier," Peter said, dropping his voice a little bit. Denmark didn't respond right away, listening carefully for the sound of movement beneath the wood that signaled Berwald or Tino coming by. When he didn't hear Peter scurry off or anyone ask him what he was doing he exhaled, rolling his eyes.

"Fine now-"

"And promise that you'll play Battleship with me later and sleep in the tree house next weekend," he continued.

"Hey, wait a minute!"

"Take it or leave it," Peter replied in a voice that carried almost like a teasing song. If Denmark had the opportunity right there, he probably would have shoved the little brat under his arm and knuckled his head so hard it took hair off. But the option wasn't available and if he wanted to have any fun tonight, he didn't have time to hang around negotiating with a twelve-year-old.

"Deal," he mumbled, careful to say it loud enough that Peter could understand him and avoid the back and forth he'd inevitably try to pull.

"You promise?"

"Yeah, yeah, I promise," he said, rolling his eyes and toeing the ground near the door sharply, "Now get a move on!"

"Wait here!" Below him he heard Peter shuffle down the ladder and head down the hallway. It was hard to not call back a response, which he greatly wanted to do if for no other reason than to point out that he had no where else to _go, _but he bit it back.

Plus, there was the added fact that if he shouted down that Tino and Berwald might hear him - though he was surprised how they hadn't heard Peter's shouting yet anyway. Not that it should have been as big a deal as it was anyway - locking him in a closet seemed completely over dramatic for the situation. He wasn't even going for the stupid prince! What did it matter to him if the guy was looking for a bride? He wasn't going with the intention of hooking up with _anyone_, just for a good time! Then again, being stuck with Berwald for a husband.\, how could he expect any less than a meter-stick shoved up Tino's behind?

The sound of a lock unlatching jarred him from his thoughts almost as much as the light that suddenly flooded from the square hole in the floor and into his retinas. After the bubbles and stars cleared from his vision he could see Peter waving him down with the jibes of "Come on" and "Hurry up!" Once they had both descended the stairs, Peter lifted up the ladder and pushed it back up into the ceiling. His height, however, hindered the process as the rope slipped from his hands and it slammed with unnecessary force - and noise - into the wood.

"Peter? What're you doing up there?" Tino called from the base of the stairs. The two exchanged glances briefly before Peter shoved Denmark towards his room, practically leaping in after him just to stick his head out the door again.

"Nothing! I...I just knocked over my chair, sorry!" he shouted, closing the door and turning around to face Denmark who was investigating the pile of disarrayed clothes on Peter's neatly made bed. When everything fell into somewhat-safe silence again he flicked his eyes towards the door.

"So, what's the deal, kid?" He raised a brow, crossing his arms over his stomach, "Since when do you lie and sneak around like such a rebel?"

"I don't!" Peter insisted, his tone somewhat resolved but laced with a sort of unease about what he was doing, "I just…I'm big enough to do what I want too!"

Denmark couldn't help but smile a little bit, either because of the fact his influence on Peter was obvious or because it was pathetically underdeveloped, as he moved forward and ruffled up the blonde's hair. Peter shrank a little, pulling his shoulders up near his ears, but after he realized what it was his smile couldn't have gotten wider.

A slight shudder ran down Denmark's spine as he processed the somehow overly sentimental moment and he pulled his hand away, jamming it into his pocket as he twisted around, "You know, whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night." His grin slipped a bit. "Now, how the hell do I get out of this house?"


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to the delays at home, the party was beyond full swing by the time Denmark arrived. He wasn't particularly disappointed by this fact because the real reason he was there had nothing to do with the motivation behind the party anyway. Though he wasn't sure why anyone would bother throwing such a big party just to meet their bride. The way he saw it, parties were for a good time and drinking - not for life partners or romance. Not that he wanted to buckle himself down to one person and boring, domestic lifestyle like Tino and Berwald had anyway.

The blonde adjusted his jacket a little, pulling it more snug against his neck as he watched people move across the dance floor. From what he could tell, some of them had either come with dates or met someone judging by the way they held their dance partner. But the women that attended solely for the prince's attention seemed constantly distracted, their eyes and attention shifting through the crowd, likely with the hopes that they were being watched. In his tardiness, he had missed the announcement of who the prince actually was and since everyone had come dressed in their most stunning clothes he wasn't easy to pick out. Of course, some of the crowd Denmark recognized from the town they lived in, but there were a lot that had likely visited from other places just for this opportunity.

He took another long swig of the alcohol in his glass, something which tasted familiar and yet was clearly foreign, and played idly with the pendant over his tie. Almost everyone here seemed to be dancing and though a few hung back to chat, it seemed to be mostly older men with politics on their mind. The dances, also, were far more formal than he usually preferred and none of the options for dance partners were appealing enough to bother parting with his glass. A half an hour in and he was beginning to wonder if this was a stupid idea after all, not that he'd ever confess as much to Berwald or Tino. If they found out, which they _wouldn't_.

Denmark turned, downing the rest of his drink with the intention of refilling the glass and at least walking away with a buzz under his belt. He set the glass down on the bar, a friendly grin spanning across his features, "Danish akvavit. I don't know what that other brand was but I'd like some _real _alcohol now."

Before the bartender could turn to take care of his order, Denmark heard a quiet mumble off to the side. Why, exactly, this mumble meant anything more to him than any of the other mumbles was a question left up to some being higher than him or the mumbler. Who turned out to be a somewhat short blonde dressed in blue and a very convincing poker face.

"What was that?" Denmark asked, turning to lean one elbow on the bar. The blonde, who had probably been standing around mumbling to himself all night, seemed slightly surprised that Denmark had heard him. When his blue eyes did find the taller blonde, he seemed to regard him with a disinterest that should have come more with familiarity and less with meeting a new person.

"I said that your taste in alcohol is strange," he responded, his voice light but his tone flat. Denmark watched as he slid his hand out of his pocket, brushing a few strands of blonde hair away that weren't held up by the cross pin in his hair.

"Not if you've got any taste for it," Denmark replied, accepting the drink when the bartender slid it in front of him. He took a long drink, the preferred taste washing out the one that had been left on his tongue only after they briefly mingled to form something subtly and yet noticeably new.

"A completely _wrong_ taste for it," he quipped. Denmark blinked, the glass not having yet left his lips, and noticed a slight shift in the other's eyes. It wasn't quiet apologetic and yet it was reprimanding, as if he didn't regret what he said but knew that he should have. Even after the taller blonde lowered his drink a strange silence hung between them for a few seconds only to be broken by Denmark's laughter.

"I'm Denmark," he said after the short burst mellowed out and he could open his eyes again. However he was left blinking at a vacant spot and felt his face fall somewhat with his surprise before he looked around, catching a glimpse of blue walking away, along the outer edges of the crowd. In the place where most people may have felt anger and embarrassment, Denmark felt something completely different. Something that lead him to jog after the other until his hand was resting on the other's shoulder and he had slid up beside the smaller body, "What's your name?" His tone was entirely nonchalant, as though the other hadn't walked away at all.

"Do you always grab at people you don't know?" the other asked, almost no noticeable lift to his voice to signal that it was even a question.

"Yeah! What's the worst that could happen?" he responded, the grin never quiet leaving his face. The same way his hand never quite left the blonde's shoulder.

"They could take advantage of your ineptitude," he said and was once again caught off guard by the slight laughter that greeted him.

"You say the weirdest things," Denmark half-explained, slapping his hand against the other's back, "C'mon, what's your name?"

A brief pause hung in the air between them and in that time the other drained the glass of amber liquid he'd been carrying and paused in his steps. Blue eyes flicked up towards Denmark's, who refused to take the smile away even in the face of such a stoic expression, and for a moment the other seemed to pout over it. But it disappeared instantly on the exhale of a sigh, "Norway."

Satisfied with the response, Denmark let his hand slide away from the other's shoulder but that turned out to mean very little in the way of his company. Norway didn't seem particularly compelled to interact with the other party-goers, and Denmark really was no exception. However, even after getting his answer to the other's name he continued to hang by. Silence never had much time to settle comfortably around them because he had a comment about nearly everything, from the party to its attendants and from the food to the alcohol. Usually, Norway remained silent, letting him chatter on about whatever his most recent opinion was, but after nearly a half-an-hour of it he couldn't help but respond. His retorts rarely complimented Denmark's observations, often making jabs at what he had said or misinformation. But the most shocking thing was the way he handled it.

He never got offended.

Truthfully, Denmark hardly noticed the little digs at what he said, instead taking them as jests rather than the insults they might have been intended as. He smiled in response to Norway's cool collection, laughed as a reply to his monotone insults, and never passed up the chance to slap a hand on his back or rest it on the other's shoulder. There was a certain cheerful abandon to his aura, a humor in things most people likely would never have found humorous. Being encased in that amusement, he didn't notice Norway's subtle surprise at his responses or laughter where others would have frowned or gotten upset. Even after a reasonable expanse of time passed in his company.

"So, do you know which one's the prince?" Denmark asked, peering down at an overhead view of the moving crowd below them. Somehow, they had wound up on a balcony together and now had a free view to the party going on below.

"Isn't it obvious? Right there," Norway said, "In the white." He pointed to a figure clad all in white to match the unnatural tint of his hair. His expression was nearly as straight-faced as Norway's, though there seemed to be a humoring lift to it in response to the green-dressed girl he was dancing with.

"Are you sure?" Denmark grinned, clearly having an ulterior motive to the question.

Norway, however, had no interest in his games, "Why would you come to a party for someone you don't even know the face of?"

"I heard some people talking earlier," Denmark explained, turning his attention down to the empty glass in his hand, "They were saying that guy wasn't the real prince. That the _real _prince was actually walking around the party. He could be anyone."

He only noticed Norway tense because he had been looking for it, the slightly nervous shift on his features had been the only remote change he'd seen all night. Wanting to make it last, Denamark waited a few seconds before breaking out into another bout of laughter. He jumped slightly, surprised by the sudden outburst, and frowned at Denmark, even going out so far to hit him half-heartedly on the arm. The taller blonde humored him, rubbing the area lightly as if it had actually hurt, "It was nice to see a different expression on your face. Can you blame me? You could be pretty cute if you'd smile."

Norway hesitated, blinking his slate-blue eyes quickly and as Denmark watched him do it he noticed the contrast to his cheeks. They were painted lightly with a pink that he hadn't noticed before, making the somewhat dull color shine before he was looking back to the dance floor below them, "Of course I can blame you--"

"You're blushing!" he shouted, pointing towards the other's face. Norway turned, nearly forced cross-eyed by the gloved finger that hovered a mere inch or so from his nose. Eventually, however, his eyes settled on Denmark with a stern frown.

"It's the alcohol." His monotone had a vaguely flustered edge to it. "You're blushing too."

"No I'm not. And even if I _was_, you didn't start blushing until I called you cute."

"You didn't call me cute. You said I _could be _cute," Norway murmured, lifting his glass to his lips and sipping at the liquid that had stopped burning his tongue some time ago. He sounded almost melancholy at the elaboration, like a person confessing the truth to a magic trick, "There's a diff--What are you doing!?"

Denmark might have answered if he knew, but truthfully his thoughts tended to abandon him in times of impulsion. It was what kept Berwald on edge and Tino at a distance during an argument, the fact that his actions, his mentality was entirely whimsical. It was impossible to even guess what stunt he would pull in response to something, sometimes even to him. Usually it got him in trouble, Berwald knocking him out early was a prime example of it. This stood just as much chance of having the same outcome.

He dropped his glass off the edge of the balcony as he moved, the weight of it not enough to seriously hurt someone though below them he heard startled cries after the shattering of glass on the floor. His hand found it's way to Norway's arm, pulling him from where he leaned against the banister and upright. That was where his interjection came in, hands flying to Denmark's chest as he was pulled close by an arm around his waist. He pushed but it felt half-hearted as he registered the other's warmth, his protests dying painlessly against lips that hovered close before covering his mouth. Denmark could feel the heat radiating from the shorter male's face as he flushed even brighter, and he was almost tempted to pull away just for the sight. But as their different choices in alcohol mingled within a shared breath, he abandoned it and pulled the other tighter against him.

He felt Norway's fingers curve into his chest, wrapping snuggly around the black tie he was wearing and his mind flashed to images of being pulled down and kissed more fervently than he had been. His stomach tightened anxiously as his breath left him, but not due to the image in his mind's eye becoming a reality. No, instead Norway had taken the opportunity to tighten his tie to the point that he couldn't breathe and Denmark pulled back, gasping.

"Can't…breathe…." he choked, though Norway released the tie the instant their contact was broken off. Denmark reached up, pulling at the silk-turned-noose and loosened it, groping towards the banister to stay upright through the haze of light-headedness.

"Don't kiss someone you hardly know," Norway explained, his mask and matching monotone having settled back into place - though the pink had not completely emptied from his face yet. He crossed his arms in front of him, frowning down at the other who straightened up after a moment, still pulling on his uncomfortably tight tie.

"Aw, c'mon!" Denmark joked, slightly deflated in several senses of the word. "You didn't enjoy it? Even a little?"

"No," Norway responded quickly, which only made Denmark grin more, especially since the flush hadn't yet disappeared from Norway's cheeks nor did it seem keen to go anywhere any time soon.

"In that case, maybe I should try again."

"Don't even _think_ about it."

He turned to head back towards the stairs with something that might have been considered a huff by normal people. Denmark snagged his arm, serving only to make him stop walking long enough that he could slide in front of him. Quite suddenly, the joking exterior slipped away as some guilt wormed through.

"Wait. That wasn't your first kiss, was it?"

Norway's eyebrows lifted, like a child who's biggest secret had been discovered, before he pulled on his arm, "Of course not. And even if it was, that wouldn't bother me. You just taste like bad alcohol."

Denmark blinked, struck dumb by the comment for several seconds before he laughed, letting go of the other's arm, "Whatever you say." He turned, meandering back over towards the banister to lean against it and look out at the crowd. His eyes found the prince almost immediately, mind wandering back to if the rumors had been true, if only to try and get them off of what had just happened.

"It wasn't bad," Norway confessed after nearly ten minutes of silence during which Denmark had struggled to keep from looking over his shoulder. For some reason, the idea that the other really had walked away seemed like an uncomfortable thing to address within the confines of his mind. Like the thought carried with it a sort of depression that he could escape if he ignored it. But he lifted his head with the comment, turning around to find Norway hadn't moved from his spot at all. Instead he was simply standing there with his hands loosely fisted at his sides.

"Yeah?"

He pushed himself upright and took a few steps towards the other. When Norway seemed to tense he hesitated, the unfamiliar sensitivity to another's feelings pulling forward a sort of awkward sudden stop. The blonde nodded, his eyes fixated off to the side and refusing to meet the Denmark's curiously bright blues as he exhaled a long breath. He hadn't finished it before a hand brushed across his cheek, the material soaked in the natural warmth of Denmark's body pulled even more blood to his cheeks. He'd barely had time to find the other's eyes after turning to face him more attentively before their lips were touching again.

It was slower this time, simple and shallow in physical touch. The pressure of their mouths against each other increased slowly, but Denmark slid his arm around Norway's waist and felt fingers curve in the red lapels of his jacket - safely away from his tie. The hand that cupped the other's cheek was soft in it's hold, thumb stroking lightly under and beside the other's eye, coaxing it closed. Despite his usual impulsive force, the feel of Norway's smaller body against his own elicited a gentleness out of him that he had never known was there. After being strangled he hardly assumed a weakness of the other but there was a reserve to his actions, like he was constantly holding back in fear of something. For whatever reason, his default of brunt strength did not seem a good way to handle it.

They stood like that, embraced simply with a discreet contact between their lips, for several long seconds before Denmark tested further. Norway had relaxed in his arms, but he felt a vague tension run through him as his tongue ran along the his lower lip. With uncharacteristic patience, he waited, rewarded by a slight part that he could slip through, and explore the other's mouth more attentively. Norway's fingers tightened slightly in his jacket lapels, but once again he relaxed with a shudder into the embrace.

The other tasted like the foreign drink he'd tried earlier, reminding Denmark of his first sip of the Danish akvavit and how they had mingled on his tongue. He far from drunk and still another full glass away from buzzed, but his body had absorbed the tingling heat and made him very aware of where Norway's body met his own. If he had the option he would have forsaken breathing to stay as they were, but both their breathing had turned from steady to erratic and he pulled away, taking in a deep breath as quietly as he could. His chin dropped, resting on top of Norway's head as the other breathed heavily against his chest, his body still and relaxed.

He didn't know what pulled his attention towards the dance floor again, since nothing much had changed in the atmosphere of downstairs. But the edge of his vision drifted towards the banister and eventually over it, though they were no where near enough to the edge for him to look straight down. He didn't need to. From where they were he could easily see the rather large entrance way almost directly across from where they stood - so he could very easily see Berwald as he entered. It took Denmark several seconds to process the thought, watching the solitary figure clad all in blue scan the crowd. But once it clicked into place he felt his chest tighten, and this time it had nothing to do with Norway.

"I have to go," he said, hurriedly sliding his hands up Norway's arms to pull him away. He felt the hold slip away from his lapels, making his heart tug. As if strings connected Norway's fingers to the part of the organ that shattered when something went wrong with a loved on.

"What? Hey, wait-" The shorter blonde made a grab for Denmark after the other moved around him, his fingers twisting in the thin chain of his pendant. After a brief snag, Denmark felt it snap and fall away, hitting the thinly carpeted floor with a light thud. The pendant itself was crystal carved into the shape of an ornate axe, a gift from Tino several birthdays ago, that he hardly ever wore due to its worth and unneeded flash. If people were going to notice him, it was for his sparkling personality, not his jewelry.

Denmark turned, scooping the pendant into his hand as quickly as possible which, unfortunately gave Norway time to touch his shoulder again. Aware that if he hesitated, even for a moment, he wouldn't want to leave, Denmark he pulled away. The flash of understated hurt in the other's blue eyes made him flinch, guilt swelling up his throat and sending unseen tremors of anxiety down his arms. He wanted to stay, to ignore Berwald and reinforce the idea that he didn't _have _to listen to them. But he shoved it down, remembering his agreement with Peter to be home, uncaught, so they could pretend nothing had happened. He stepped forward to press a kiss to Norway's forehead, "We'll see each other again."

Once again he turned, sliding away from the other and quickly heading down the stairs, his escape route already mapped out in his head. Behind him, he heard Norway's voice, undoubtedly raising in objection to something that was so uncertain, something neither of them could confirm. Denmark rolled his eyes, his own doubt in his words buried beneath layers of confidence and right feelings, "Trust me!" He shouted over his shoulder as he leaped down the last three stairs.

Several short minutes later, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

A month had passed, and the snow that had been falling now stopped, covering the streets and walkways in the town and the trees of the forest behind their house. Denmark didn't mope around the house because sulking didn't fit his personality and was oftentimes boring. But everyone could see the shift in him, even Berwald was forced to acknowledge it on some days, though he usually chose to ignore it in favor of letting Tino and Peter try to cheer him up. He stood steadfast by the idea that if Denmark hadn't gone in the first place, none of it would have happened - which, of course, was a problem since they had no proof that Denmark had gone to begin with. Despite Tino being home, he had somehow managed to sneak back in and hid the entire night under the premise of playing hide-and-seek with Peter. Having not seen him for sure at the party, Berwald couldn't contest it and the issue dropped save for a week or so of disapproving frowns.

Denmark sat in the living room now, a month to the day since the party, with his chin resting on top of the arm folded along the back of the couch. There was no snow to watch, but he stared out across the white landscape as if there were something to be found in it aside from a certain bleakness. He didn't know what he was looking for, or at least he told himself that to keep the dull throb away from his chest. It was stupid to call it love at this point, since they had only spent several hours together at a party and that wasn't what determined such an intense feeling. At least according to Tino, whom he was fairly certain was just trying to cheer him up. The attempt hadn't really worked, but he liked Tino enough to pretend.

His blue gaze fell down to the pendant in his hand, fingers peeling back from his palm to observe the crystal axe carefully. He hadn't realized it that night, but the smaller back-end had broken off of it after he dropped it. When he realized it later he'd seen it as something of an omen, imagining that he had stepped on it in his need to leave. As the crystal shattered under his boot, his chances of actually meeting Norway again had done the same. Like a sort of mirror to the future, and as lame and corny as the idea was it still made his chest tighten a bit. He hadn't worn it sense, but he carried it around with him - in a pocket or clutched in his hand - for some reason that he wasn't completely certain of. It simply…felt right.

When he caught movement out of the corner of his eye he closed his hand quickly, as if he was hiding some kind of drug instead of a stupid necklace that really wasn't stupid at all. He looked up to find Berwald staring at him, fully dressed in his usual blue jacket, scarf, and scowl. Denmark snorted, "What?"

"Want y'ta c'me cut some firew'd," he replied, his voice low and cyan eyes reflecting something that bordered on awkward.

"Oh yeah?" Denmark replied, "Well forget it. It's not my job to cut wood for your stupid--" But he was cut off by his own white and red scarf flying into his face, followed by the weight of his winter jacket.

"J'st do it," Berwald near growled, turning to walk out of the house entirely with the not-quite-slamming of the back door.

Denmark glared after him, shoving his jacket and scarf onto the floor as if that would reinforce his spite and loath to be told what to do. Particularly by Berwald, a man who he didn't like much on even the best of days. He turned his face towards the window again, staring across the blank slate that extended all the way to the road at the edges of their yard. His thumb curved into the edge of the crystal axe, pressing the vaguely sharp but far from dangerous edge into the crease between the joints as his fingers curled into his own tightened jaw. After several minutes he gave up a frustrated half-scream.

"I'm actually doing what that jerk wants," he mumbled to himself, pulling on his jacket and buttoning it up with a forcefulness that was not required for the task at hand, "Maybe something _is_ wrong with me."

Several minutes later, bundled up and in his boots, Denmark trekked out that back door to the shed, where Berwald stood with his axe already in hand. He didn't say a word as he yanked open the shed, finding his own and pulling it down from its nail-pegs. When he got outside and slammed the shed closed with appropriate force, he moved to walk ahead of the taller blonde, his free hand jammed deeply into the pocket of his coat. He didn't bother to look if Berwald followed as he trekked through the snow to their usual place. The wood wasn't required to heat the house, but Tino seemed fond of having a fire going around the holidays and even several weeks after - so of course Berwald would trek out into the snow to keep up a supply of wood.

They were both already panting before Denmark came up with anything of remote profoundness to say, tossing another group of logs into the tarp spread out on top of the snow, "I didn't come out here because you wanted me to."

"That so," Berwald said, bringing his axe down and cutting a chunk of wood almost clean and half. The second swing seemed almost unnecessary - he probably could have intimidated it into splitting if he just bothered to look at it long enough.

"Yeah," Denmark confirmed, re-gripping his axe to start cutting sections into another log, "I just got sick of sitting in that house all day is all."

"Starin' at noth'n 'r th' axe T'no got y?" Berwald asked, setting another chunk of wood on top of the tree stump they used as a cutting block and shifting his grip on the axe.

"That's none of your business, rocks-for-brains," Denmark snapped, hypersensitive to the tension that had blossomed across his shoulders, "I'll-"

"'S broke."

"What?"

"Th' axe," Berwald said, looking over his shoulder, "Y' broke it."

Denmark tried not to hesitate, but he felt something bubble up and stop his throat for a few seconds. His mind blanked on any response at all, much less a witty one. He half-laughed, but there wasn't the ego behind it. It felt like the axe was burning a hole through his coat pocket, "Y-yeah? So what?"

"C'ld fix it for y'," Berwald offered, "File down th'edge 'n carve a new pi'ce."

Denmark almost flinched as the sound of Berwald's axe resonated, crushing its way through another piece of wood with more strength than carving skill. He fished around in his pocket for the pendant, as if it had singed a hole in his pocket and could have dropped to the snow. Even when his fingers brushed its defined edges he cringed back, as if had burned him, before closing around the crystal and pulling it out. It fit perfectly within the small frame of his palm where he turned it over, pressing his thumb to the uneven edges that may have been sharp enough to cut if he hadn't been wearing gloves.

It hadn't occurred to him to ask Berwald to fix the pendant - possibly because that meant coming up with a lie about what happened to it and why he didn't have the other piece. Though even has he thought on the idea, he knew there was a certain falseness too it. If he had it fixed then it would go back to the same ornate, boring cross it had been. It would have been like that night had never happened, like _Norway _had never happened. As foolish as it was, despite the occasional aches in his chest, he wasn't sure he wanted to give it up yet. It wasn't like the axe held any special significance, it wasn't as though Norway could use it as a tracking device to find him. But there was a stupid sort of hope in its unfinished, broken edges.

Though, with a month of nothing under his belt, the edges were just beginning to feel sharp and cold again. A busted pendant, nothing more.

"Den--"

"Yeah," he said, pretending that his voice didn't feel choked in his throat. He turned around, swallowing something thick in his throat that made his esophagus feel tight. His fingers closed tightly around the shape in his palm, committing it to memory or trying to seal his own thoughts inside of it he wasn't sure. But he held out his hand towards Berwald's offered one, dropping it into his open palm.

"Wait a minute!"

Tino's voice was an unexpected by more than just Denmark and Berwald, who both turned to look towards his quickly approaching figure. Several birds took flight from their winter homes, causing snow to fall to the ground in several spots around them. One of which being on top of Denmark's head, who muttered a slightly startled curse as he reached up to ruffle the snow from his blonde hair.

"T'no?"

"Sorry to startle you," Tino apologized, offering his sincerest smile to both of them before setting his attention on Denmark, "Do you mind if I see your axe pendant for a minute?"

"What? Why?" Denmark asked, but Tino had already swiped it out of Berwald's palm. Both men, oblivious to Tino's intentions, couldn't completely see what he was doing as he held it close to his chest, fiddling with something in his other hand.

Several seconds later a smile lit up his features, "Wait here."

"Where the hell else am I going to--hey!" Denmark called, almost grabbing for Tino as the other turned around to retrace his own footsteps in the snow. He turned on Berwald, "What the hell? Can't you keep your wife from stealing other people's shit?"

But Berwald didn't reply, instead he looked towards where Tino had ran off to, vaguely able to make out something else in the trees. Denmark, however, seemed more inclined to continue cursing about his lack of attention and kicking snow either at the other's legs or off into the clearing.

"What the hell are you even--" He turned to face the direction the other had been watching, his arms crossed tightly over his stomach. As what he was looking at came into focus they loosened, and as the image of it registered in his mind completely they fell to his sides, numb. His mouth gaped just a tad, not even closing as Tino completely closed the distance and gestured lightly to the person at his side.

"This is Prince Norway," he explained, though his violet eyes were sharp on Denmark with a look that could only be described as the word 'busted' plastered across his expression, "He's been looking for someone he met at a dance held last month."

"Hn," Berwald replied, eyes flicking between Norway and Denmark. The former's expression was completely stoic, though he noticed he avoided looking completely at Denmark, who's mouth had not yet shut.

"A month?" Was all he managed, and Norway's eyes lifted just enough to flick a glare at him out of their edges before Tino continued. His voice became somewhat critical and it was clear that if etiquette allowed it, he might have reached out to hit Denmark right there.

"All he's had to go on was a piece of a broken crystal axe pendant. Since the person ran off without giving their _name_."

Beside him, Denmark heard Berwald make a sound that might have been considered a snicker for most people and it jarred him out of his resumed stupor enough to elbow the other in the arm. Berwald remained unfazed by it.

"I recognized the piece almost instantly," Tino said, though there was little evident condescending tone to his voice. He did, however bring up the two pieces of the axe pendant and connect them. Denmark, Berwald, and even Norway watched as the edges fitting without flaw, curve for curve and point for point. Denmark almost couldn't believe it, though not simply because the fragments fit together. His mind still reeled with the fact that Norway had searched for a whole _month _to find him. Despite the apparent disapproval, the almost completely unmoving expressions and little insults - Norway had actually _looked _for him.

With the pieces now confirmed, Tino pulled up Denmark's hand and dropped them into his palm before reaching out to snag Berwald's arm. His voice was cheerful as he wrapped his own arms around the taller male's limb, tugging him back in the direction of the house. "We'll let you two sort this out. Makes sure you bring the firewood home with you!"

"Yeah…" Denmark replied, not completely acknowledging Tino's words, "Whatever."

Not a lot of time passed between Tino and Berwald's exit and Norway speaking up, shifting with a very subtle awkwardness, "So, are you just going to stare at me with your mouth gaping?"

"You're even cuter in the snow," Denmark blurted out, which really wasn't a statement much different from anything else he would have said that night except that neither of them had been drinking today. Or at least he hadn't. Norway's eyes finally lifted up to him, the edges of his straight-line mouth turning downwards in a frown seconds.

"Dolt."

Denmark felt a grin pulling at his features, taking some immense comfort in the derogatory name and the ease with which it punctuated the air between them. "So, _Prince _Norway, is it? I thought the guy in the white was the prince."

"Who said there was only one prince?" Norway asked, crossing his arms and turning to shuffle with half-interest through the snow in the clearing. When he glanced over towards Denmark's confused face he sighed, "My brother, Iceland, was the one who was dancing."

Denmark tried to pull up even the slightest recollection of the other prince's face from the file he'd tucked to the back of his mind, but it failed. His memories of that night were filled with nothing but kissing the other. And the more he lingered on it, the more he wanted to do it again. But Norway lingered just beyond him, observing the forest as if there was something interesting he should have been noticing in it. Where Denmark usually could have struck up conversation about anything, about _nothing_, his tongue felt like dead weight in his mouth. Silence lapsed between them but somewhere within it, Norway had wandered close enough that he could lower his voice and still be heard. His pale eyes were focused somewhere around Denmark's knees, hands gripping the opposite elbows where they folded over his chest.

"You didn't tell me your name when I asked." There it was again - that air of hurt surrounding him that never quite touched him yet screamed at Denmark to do something. Anything. But the statement had him rooted to the spot.

"You asked for it?" The question sounded dumb, even to him. "But I told you my name at the bar."

Norway turned slightly pink in the cheeks, mumbling something like "I didn't hear you" under his breath before addressing Denmark more directly.

"I called after you," his monotone slipped away for something a tad more haughty, "You yelled something irrelevant back."

"It wasn't irrelevant." He grinned proudly. "I said we'd meet again. I told you to trust me."

"We only _met _because I tracked you down, idiot," Norway mumbled, his attention averted again. It provided the perfect opening for Denmark's arms to slide around his waist, pulling him close in an embrace that both of them had almost forgot. Yet despite hanging on the edges of their memories it came shooting back, like it had never left them at all.

"I was still right, wasn't I?" He lowered his voice as he leaned down near the other, their lips hovering inches apart. The strands of Norway's hair that were free from the clip tickled the edges of his cheeks in the cold and he could feel warmth radiating softly from the other's skin. Norway's gloved hands curled against Denmark's chest where the lapels had been so many weeks ago.

The word "idiot" was only a little more than a breath against his lips as he pressed them to Norway's. They were cold to the touch, but he felt a warmth buried beneath that surfaced gradually as their breaths entwined and bodies pressed together. He was aware how well his arms fit into the curve of Norway's lower back, and how the other's smaller body lined his own so well. The scent he hadn't noticed before combined with a taste he remembered all too vividly flooded his senses and it felt like he could never hold on tight enough or long enough. He tightly gripped the broken pieces of crystal in his hand as feelings of familiarity mingled with the unknown to create something entirely new.


End file.
